


Meet In The Dark

by seamscribe



Series: Ugly Pretty [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, F/M, Photography
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2019-10-10 09:20:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17423165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seamscribe/pseuds/seamscribe
Summary: Brienne and Jaime look ahead.





	1. Teaser: All the News That's Fit To Post

July 16: 

Spotted! Brienne Tarth enjoying some quality time with her beau’s niece and nephew, budding fashion star Myrcella Baratheon and her brother, potential future hotshot lawyer Tommen. She’s been cozying up to the family since she and the gorgeous Jaime Lannister began dating in March--though his twin sister, Cersei Baratheon, has been keeping a low profile lately. 

 

August 08:

Spotted! Sansa Stark with her mother Catelyn in King’s Landing, shopping for wedding gowns. Catelyn was a successful model in her heyday, but spends most of her time now in Winterfell. The two were accompanied by stylist Margaery Tyrell and photographer Brienne Tarth. Tyrell won’t be doing any styling for the wedding, as Sansa is reportedly going for a very classic look,  but she will be a bridesmaid. Tarth will shoot the wedding photos.

 

August 12:

Major scoop: Loras Tyrell and Renly Baratheon are engaged! The two have been dating for almost seven years. Tyrell matriarch Olenna is said to be over the moon--and already planning the wedding. Poor Loras may not get a word in edgewise!

 

_ Allure _ , August issue  
  


__ Brienne Tarth is a busy bee. Surrounded by two laptops, a tablet, a phone, and a Nikon D3X that she cradles like a child, she jokingly tells me she never plans anything for the entire month of August, as the entire fashion industry gears up for the famed September issue. 

 

     Tarth is on her second September cover, an impressive feat for a photographer who has been working for just five years. But those five years have been non-stop for Tarth, who has racked up editorials, ad campaigns, look books, commercials, and even an award-nominated short film. She’s even done some modeling of her own, which she shakes off with a slightly embarrassed laugh.   

 

     This year, she will shoot the cover for Westeros Vogue, arguably the most prestigious of all the September issue covers, with her long-time muse Sansa Stark. Moreover, the issue will feature three of her ad campaigns.

 

     Allure caught up with the Tarth native in between shoots.

 

_ Allure: It’s been a busy year for you, professionally and personally. Any plans for a break next year? _

 

_ BT: I’m not sure. I don’t consider myself ambitious, but I like to work, so probably not. I might be doing a movie with the Sand sisters, and my boyfriend’s nephew Tommen (Baratheon) just started a legal charity, so I’ve been trying to help with that. _

 

_ Allure: A few of your friends are engaged. Is that giving you any ideas? _

 

_ BT: Marriage ideas? (laughs a lot) No, especially not after seeing Sansa (Stark) plan her wedding. I’d probably elope, if anything. _

 

_ Allure: The last Lannister wedding was quite the affair. _

 

_ BT: … _

 

_ Allure: Okay, next question! Are you wearing Baratheon to the King’s Landing Gala this year? _

 

_ BT: Of course, always.  _

 

_ Allure: Will you be shooting his wedding photos? _

 

_ BT: (laughs) Don’t put the idea out there. Loras is too much of a diva for me. Sorry, Loras. No, he knows. He loves it. _

 

So we may be seeing the Amazon blonde at the Oscars soon--in Baratheon, of course.  
  
  
  


September 07:

Spotted! Cersei Baratheon taking a meeting with several executives from LannisCorp’s Dorne branch. The stunning blonde is said to be interested in the position of editor-in-chief of Dornish Vogue...which is not actually vacant at this time...hostile takeover?  
  


October 12:

Fashion Is My Life @fashionlyfe

@theuglyswan, Are you doing the Phillip Plein campaign with Ramsay Bolton?!!!!!!

 

Brienne Tarth @theuglyswan

    @fashionlyfe  Nope.

 

October 14:

Old tea rejuvenated! Brienne Tarth has left a fairly lucrative campaign--a quarter of a million dragons--over casting differences with Phillip Plein. Why? The photographer vowed never to work with male model Ramsay Bolton after he was caught on film assaulting model Sansa Stark, a close friend of Tarth’s. Tarth’s considerable pull in the industry has likely kept Bolton out of several campaigns. 

He is trashing her to anyone who will listen, and everyone around him is tired.

 

October 15:

The Hounds Will Hunt @rmsbolton

@theuglyswan Fucking bitch, ur gonna regret fucking with my money

Brienne Tarth @theuglyswan

    @rmsbolton  I could bench you  
  


 

October 16:

Spotted! Jaime Lannister wearing a t-shirt that reads: My Girlfriend Could Bench You, in a reference to yesterday’s Twitter storm. The girlfriend in question didn’t look too thrilled--but we love it!

 

October 26:

Spotted! Brienne Tarth celebrating ahead of her October 28th birthday! The now 27-year-old photographer and part-time model had a picturesque picnic on the Lannister yacht, followed by a little jetskiiing. She was joined by beau Jaime Lannister and several of his family members (though not his twin sister, Cersei). Tarth wore a stunning deep blue one-piece by Renly Baratheon and a blue cover-up. 

 

October 30: 

A spokesperson for Cersei Baratheon states that the exec and former model has “no plans of attending” the King’s Landing Gala. It will be the first time the heiress hasn’t attended the lavish fete since 2009.  
  


November 4, 4:45 PM:

Be sure to stay glued to VarysScoop for live coverage of the King’s Landing Gala! We’ll have the fashion, the speeches, and most importantly--all the gossip!

 

November 4, 10:26 PM

Readers, I am rarely truly surprised. But even _I_ could not have predicted tonight’s scandal...

  
  
  



	2. You Have Arrived

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The start of the 92nd Annual King's Landing Gala.

 

 

You Have Arrived

  
  


There’s something about cars that seems to make Jaime Lannister especially amorous. Cabs, Jeeps, sensible sedans--it doesn’t matter. Brienne will always feel his touch land on her knee and attempt to make its way up her thigh, or feel his hand splay across her ribs and inch over to the shallow curve of her breast. Loose clothing is a tricky prospect, as he will make it his immediate mission to get underneath it. 

 

    Tight clothing doesn’t solve the problem. Not even the presence of Bronn can deter him. In fact, the presence of Bronn seems to  _ encourage _ him, because she can’t keep her face from turning bright red when she meets his eyes every time they exit the car, and Jaime always claims to find it ‘absurdly charming’. Brienne has a feeling that a day will come when she’ll be compelled to kick Bronn in the balls; she’s not dreading it.

 

Limos are, apparently, no exception to the car rule. Brienne would have just as soon driven herself to the King’s Landing Gala, but Renly insisted that if she was going to wear a Baratheon gown, she had to do it in the absolute  _ height _ of style. Limos really seem to her more like the absolute  _ height _ of obnoxious extravagance, but she had long since given up on putting her foot down on these matters. If she put her foot down, Renly would just put his foot down harder and then stamp it like a child. Margaery does the same, although she had at least dismissed the idea of forcing Brienne into a wig very quickly, not because of the murderous look in her eye, but because Renly didn’t think it would flatter the neckline of her gown.

 

    She can’t deny that the dress is gorgeous. The Gala’s theme this year is texture in textiles, so basically any special fabric or mix of fabrics is encouraged. Sansa’s dress is thick, hand-stitched Northern wool in heavy, dramatic layers, while Margaery’s is--somewhat predictably--leather and metal. Renly and Loras are wearing coordinated brocade suits. Brienne shudders to think what they will wear on their wedding day.

    Her own gown is undeniably gorgeous: it has a diagonal cutout in the middle, just above her navel, with the top half a stunning sky blue with a sheath neckline and the bottom half a column of pure white. It’s stiff and she can’t touch it for fear of getting sweaty smudges on the fabric--but it’s beautiful. Brienne appreciates the way the cut-out gives her the illusion of a waist, and the rather severe neckline somehow flatters her broad shoulders. The cut of the bottom half makes her look quite statuesque, and is long enough that she can blessedly wear flats. 

 

    Margaery had practically made a national crisis of what lip color to use, but had settled on a soft pink, with eyes somewhere between smoky and several terms Brienne didn’t understand. It all goes well with the lovely color of the dress. 

    The hair is a neat bob with a side part that keeps sweeping into her face when she looks down and bites her lip, which she keeps doing. Thankfully, the lipstick is from the Highgarden Ultra Colorstay Lip Line.

 

    Jaime, meanwhile, only had to put on an Armani suit and brush his hair. So unfair.

 

    He’s currently nibbling her ear, stroking the back of her neck with his fingertips, and having his hands continuously slapped away from her dress. He had lamented all evening that it was so pretty but so hard to get into. 

 

    ‘Tell me about it,’ she had replied, breathing carefully. 

 

    ‘My favorite part of the evening will be desert, followed by taking that off the instant we get home.’

    “Stop that,” she says absently, ducking away from his lips. She has grown used to the momentary pout he always sports when he doesn’t get his way, surprisingly one of the few habits that betray his spoiled upbringing. 

 

    As a roommate, he has made a valiant effort at being conscientious, putting clothes in the hamper and personally washing anything with his come on it. And he has finally mastered eebies and started drinking his morning vine tea! She thinks--privately--that she could take him back to Tarth without fear of him looking like  _ too _ much of a tourist.

 

She had never thought she could get _used_ _to_ a man wanting her, but she has found herself getting used to a lot of things she never expected. Jaime’s morning squeezes, those pouts when she grumbles at him to let her sleep, his smug grin when she relents and presses into his embrace. His occasional morning grouchiness that means _he_ is the one to pull away, sticking his head under the pillow.

 

She’s gotten used to feeling him hard against her, used to the pressure of his palm cupping between her legs, a steady heat that makes her thighs twitch, wanting to catch his touch. She’s especially gotten used to his mouth, whether it’s whispering filthy soliloquies against her ear or lighting her up with the skilled stroke of his tongue. Sometimes just the  _ sight _ of his lips is enough to make her uncomfortably hot in public. Used to his lewd comments that can only possibly be designed to make her turn red, like ‘Did you know your tits actually bounce if I fuck you hard enough?’

 

But besides that, she’s also gotten used to lunch dates at low-key spots, drinks with Margaery and Tyrion at the Red Keep, impromptu photoshoots with Myrcella. She  _ had _ gotten used to stopping by the bookshop during Tommen’s shifts to chat, until the Department of Labor received an anonymous complaints that there was a minor working and Gilly and Sam had had to let him go under threat of penalty. Tommen had been furious and sulky for a week before he decided to use the extra free time to start a charity to help people find good lawyers and pay for them. As young as he seems sometimes, he’s remarkably mature, and he seems to have gotten a lot stronger sense of empathy than some of his elders.

 

Though the bedrooms she had envisioned for the siblings sat mostly empty, there have been quite a few times in the five months they’ve lived here that the two have turned up, later than they should be out, saying that no one was home and they found the penthouse creepy with just the two of them. Cersei never  _ allows _ this, per se, but Brienne hasn’t received any angry phone calls, so she must realize that  _ someone _ has to watch her children if she doesn’t feel like it.

 

Tommen and Myrcella both do their best to seem unbothered by the empty home and days-long stretches without seeing their mother, but the strain shows in Myrcella’s bitter tone,  in the way Tommen sticks close to his sister. Once, he had called at midnight, near to tears, saying Myrcella never came home. As it turned out, she had told her mother she was staying the night at a friend’s house--but Tommen never saw his mother to get the message. If he didn’t have the delicate pride of a teenage boy, Brienne is certain he would have asked to sleep in their room that night.

 

She’s even gotten used to lunches with Tywin that do their best to turn into arguments. She learns quickly that he likes to be in control of things, including the finances of Tarth, her career, and, of course, her relationship with Jaime, which he has a  _ lot _ of thoughts on. Mainly, when they should get married, how many grandchildren he wants, how many grand _ sons _ he wants, and where they’ll have the wedding. Jaime has already suggested never getting married just to spite him, but had undermined his case when he proposed two hours later.

 

She’s gotten used to Jaime’s fondness for kissing her in public and his need to have regular mutual reassurances of their love, and she’s gotten used to the twinge of pain she feels when she thinks about all the ways it had screwed him up to fall in love with someone no one could know about, on top of falling in love with someone who held him hostage with her love,  and took his love for granted.

 

    Through it all, Cersei has been quiet. Popular gossip, according to Margaery, is that she’s scheming for editor-in-chief at Vogue Dorne. It makes sense. Cersei has been pushing vehemently for more involvement in the company for ages, so cutting her teeth on a less prestigious edition of Vogue that will invite a bit less scrutiny is a sensible choice, and she’s not totally unqualified for the position, having been a model and still considered one of the most fashionable people in Westeros. The bitter cries of nepotism won’t bother her a wit, and she’ll have total control. Maybe it will satisfy her and she’ll actually be content. Brienne can dream.

 

    Still, her silence feels disconcerting if Brienne lets herself think on it too long. Like a snake coiled in the grass. But she won’t even be in attendance tonight.

 

So why is she so...

 

“Nervous?” Jaime asks, sitting back.

 

“Yes, and no, I don’t know why.”

 

She won’t have to make a speech. She’s only going to give one interview, to Jeyne Poole, who, although not exactly her favorite person, will be polite and professional. She’ll have her friends there. She can keep her composure on a red carpet these days. But it’s intended to be her first official public appearance with Jaime. She already hates having her picture taken, the idea of having it taken standing next to the most handsome man in Westeros is mortifying.

 

    Maybe it’s because Oberyn Martell will be there. He’s an outrageous flirt, and even though she’s learned not to be too flustered by it, she can’t imagine Jaime will be too happy. He can be absurdly jealous. It’s annoying at best, insulting at worst, and almost always inconvenient. She tries to be understanding, but her patience runs thin quickly on that topic. Aside from medieval weapons and weight-lifting, it’s the only thing they fight about.

 

Worse yet...she’s fairly certain that Oberyn had actually  _ meant _ his flirting, when they first met and she was still shy and awkward, especially around an accomplished photographer who could help her career along if she could manage not to embarrass herself too badly in front of him. But she had found it impossible to believe that he could really want to sleep with her, even when he grazed her knee with his fingers, said he found her ‘very intriguing’, and asked if she would pose for him, managing to imply with a simple slant of his brows that he meant pose  _ nude _ . She had gone temporarily mute until he had given her a somewhat pitying smile and changed the subject back to cameras.

 

“Then let me distract you,” Jaime says, going back to kissing her ear. “I can make sure you’re thinking about me all night,” he murmurs.

 

With a rueful smile, Brienne replies, “That won’t make things go any faster.”

They pull up to the curb and she takes a deep breath. Jaime takes her hand and gently turns her gaze to his.  _ There is the truth. _

 

“You do look good in that dress. I can’t wait to show you off.”

 

Her heart flutters in a way she’s not sure can ever get used to, and doesn’t want to.

 

They step out of the car and into a blazing wall of lights.

 

For all her dread over walking the red carpet with what she is still convinced, even after so many male models, is the best looking man in Westeros...for all her dread, it goes by so fast that it makes her head spin. Somehow, she always forgets about that, how  _ fast _ things go here, fast and  _ loud _ . If there are people muttering insults under their breath...and she’s sure there are...she can’t hear them.

 

However, her relief doesn’t last long, as Margaery pulls her aside as soon as she enters the ballroom with an air of what could be called  _ worry _ . 

 

    “Bri, don’t be mad,  _ but… _ ” 

 

    “But…”

 

    “There’s an unexpected guest...”

 

    Unexpected guest? What unexpected guest could make Margaery  _ worried? _

 

    “Margie, just spit it out, please.”

 

    “Well...he’s tall, ginger, and he’ll probably try to grab your ass.”

 

    " _Tormund’s_ here? _Why?”_

 

    “He’s Dacey Mormont’s plus one,” Margaery says with a helpless shrug. “Loras is talking to him right now, telling him to be discrete and not cause a scene.”

 

    “When has Tormund ever  _ not _ caused a scene? How did Loras not know about this? Do I pay him too much?”

 

    “What’s the matter?” Jaime asks, suddenly at her side.

 

    “Nothing,” she and Margaery both say quickly, too quickly to be believed, for sure. 

 

    “Don’t you look handsome!” Margaery exclaims. “Is that a--”

 

    “Baratheon, yes, Tyrell, you picked it out, remember? You’ll have to do better than that to distract me.”

 

    “Nothing’s the matter,” Brienne says, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You can meet Tormund!”

 

    Jaime’s face darkens immediately. “The whiskey giant?” Then it takes on a look of  _ challenge _ . “Well, shouldn’t we go say hello, wench?” he says, already looking around for him--Brienne is certain that he’s Google Tormund already.

 

    “Jaime,” she says warningly. 

 

    “What?” he says, clenching his jaw. “I just want to be _ friendly _ .”

 

    “No scenes,” Margaery says firmly.

 

    “A Lannister, cause a scene?”

 

    At this very inopportune moment, Oberyn Martell walks over. At least his lover is with him, although with Ellaria Sand, that doesn’t always mean someone to rein him in. They’re both shameless flirts with little love for Lannisters, even if they have no trouble with this particular one.

 

    Still, Oberyn is a colleague, and she’s not going to give him a cold shoulder just because Jaime has a jealousy problem, so she doesn’t protest when Oberyn takes her hands, even though she can sense Jaime following the motion with narrowed eyes.

 

    “Brienne, you look stunning,” Oberyn says, taking in her dress and somewhat pointedly  _ not _ greeting her companion. “You must come down to my level and give me a kiss.” Brienne ducks down and kisses his cheek, ignoring both her burning face and the strangled noise Jaime makes from beside her. 

 

    Ellaria, smiling far too wide, says, “Won’t you give us a twirl, sweetheart?”

 

    Brienne twirls quickly and Oberyn whistles, saying, “That Baratheon certainly has an eye.” With his eyes still roaming over her figure, he says, “I’d love to photograph you in this dress, Brienne. I can imagine it now.”

 

    “As can I, love,” Ellaria adds with a smirk.

 

    Jaime clears his throat very loudly and then says very quietly, “Like I’d ever leave my girlfriend alone with you.”   


 

Oberyn gives a look of surprise, as if he had just noticed Jaime and says, “Why, Lannister, your girlfriend has been alone with me already,  _ many  _ times.”

 

    “In a professional setting,” Brienne adds quickly.

 

    “Well, not  _ always _ professional. Sometimes it was quite... _ social _ , I would say,” Oberyn replies.

 

    Brienne narrows her eyes and Ellaria must decide it’s not worth toying with Jaime if it makes her upset because she pats Oberyn’s arm and says, “Oh, don’t be a trouble maker, my sweet love.” To Brienne, she says, “I have a gift for you, by the way. I had it sent to your apartment. Perhaps you can make use of it tonight when you get home...If you’re not too tired.”

 

_     Oh, what in the Seven hells?... _

 

    “Thank you, Ellaria, that’s very kind.” 

 

    As soon as the pair swan away, Brienne turns to Jaime and says, “Jaime, you can’t talk like that in front of my professional associates!”

 

    “Because Oberyn was being so professional?”

 

    “Jaime, come on. You know what he’s like. He flirts with everybody.”

 

    “But he never flirts without  _ intent _ , and he’d make good on it  _ tonight _ if you’d let him.”

 

    “And do you think I have a plan to do that?” she scoffs, putting her hands on her hips. But when she sees the real wariness in his eyes, she tries to remind herself that he’s used to mind games that might make him wonder just that. Softening, she puts a hand on his wrist and says, “Does that sound like me?”  _ Or does it sound like…her? _

 

    “I know you wouldn’t do that,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

    Brienne pulls them down and steps closer, crowding him until he puts his arms around her. “And you think I need protection from Oberyn Martell?”

 

    “I just don’t like the way he looked at you!”

 

    “What happened to wanting to show me off?”

 

    “Oh, quit making jokes and kiss me already,” Jaime says with a sulky look that shouldn’t be so cute on a man over forty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meant to have this up earlier, but I've been sick all week.


	3. Poppies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime spends the day with his girlfriend before the King's Landing Gala.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought I was gone? I am still here. :)

 

 

Poppies

  


 

     One would think that Jaime Lannister was used to watching the love of his life flirt with another man. Well, be flirted _with_ , anyway, although Brienne hadn’t absolutely shut Oberyn Martell down, like she would have with most men. Even Martell’s lover was in on the action! The way her bedroom eyes had roamed all over Brienne while they leaned into each other, probably thinking all manner of unsavory thing about his somehow sweetly innocent wench.

 

     And now he has the esteemed privilege of meeting the Whiskey Giant! What a godsdamn blessing. He doubts any ex of Brienne’s can come close to Robert Baratheon for pure boorish behavior...although they say this Tormund Giantsbane is a true Wildling.

 

     He has no idea when he wakes that morning that he’ll be faced with such a challenge this evening. No, that morning, his main concern had been touching her as much as he could before she was dragged away to dress for the gala. He also wanted to make sure she didn’t get too nervous, and there was an obvious way to serve both objectives. 

 

     He wakes her with a kiss on the back of her neck, which is naked for the first time since they met, hair trimmed into a neat pixie cut. At first, he misses running his fingers through her hair--he had even taken a brush to it himself a few times, while her eyes sparked with amusement all the while. It was never that long, but it would fall to the nape of her neck and almost caress her collarbones, and it was always soft, even if he had to work out a few tangles sometimes. It made an excellent hot tub activity.

 

     But now he has a whole new splay of freckles to study, so he sets to work on that. In a moment or two, she stirs against him and says good morning in a voice still husky from sleep.

 

     “Good morning, wench,” Jaime answers, drawing her closer under the blankets. “Sleep well?”

 

     “I dreamt about poppies,” she murmurs, launching into a rambling description of her dream while Jaime kisses his way from her lips to her neck to her chest, only faltering when he gets to her nipples. She falls silent--more or less--when he slips under the blankets completely.

 

     After she comes, he takes her in his arms and kisses her again, until he’s breathing so hard he thinks he might faint, and presses inside her with a sound of relief. Brienne wraps her long, loose limbs around him with a drowsy sigh, pulling him deeper and welcoming him with slow kisses. He thinks dazedly and not at all for the first time that he will _never_ get tired of her lips.

 

     They lay in bed long enough to fall asleep again--it doesn’t matter. He set the alarm an hour early to give them plenty of time. He’s decided that today is a good chance to prove how dependable and thoughtful he can be. Like the kind of guy you’d like to marry, even.

 

     This is definitely his favorite part of the day, and something he had never known the joy of until he had shared it with Brienne. He can’t remember a single relaxed morning like this with Cersei, always running, hiding, denying. That’s almost certainly why he always feels the need to be so _showy_ in his affections for Brienne. He might have once worried that she would take it as false, but he can tell now that she feels his sincerity, and has certainly done so since the day she ran into her old acquaintance in the park and broke his nose. 

 

     She really hadn’t liked the t-shirt, but he was damn proud of her, both her stubborn goodness and her well-developed biceps. They had a mild fight about it until he was forced to prove how much he liked her muscles by having her hold him down while they fucked. He had felt compelled to repeat this several times, for reasons. He isn’t sure if it healed a piece of her soul or anything, but she sure liked it.

 

     Although he still would have preferred if her emnity with Ramsay Bolton had stayed relatively dormant--the boy is definitely crazy and it only takes a moment for even the best fighter to get hurt. Jaime can only hope a healthy fear of the Lannister name can make Roose Bolton keep his son in line.

 

     “What time are the kids coming over?” she asks.

 

     “Two.”

 

     “That’s good, because Margaery will probably be over here harassing me by four, and we should absolutely keep them from crossing paths.”

 

     “Are they fighting?”

 

     “No, they’ll just never stop talking! I love them both, but after about fifteen minutes, my eyes start to glaze over. I never know who they’re talking about. Like the other day, I did a shoot with some guy named Cole Sprouse and they both flipped out when I said I didn’t know who he was. Then they started talking about Brazilian blowouts.”

 

     “Oh my gods, should a fifteen-year-old be getting those? _My_ fifteen-year-old?”

 

     “A Brazilian _blowout_ , Jaime, not a Brazilian _wax._ ”

 

     “My heart can’t take that kind of stress, wench, I’m too old.”

 

     Brienne rolls her eyes and says, “It’s not my fault you’re not up on your salon treatments.”

 

     “You think I need salon treatments?!”

 

     “Mm, I don’t know, maybe a mud mask could wipe that smug look off your face?”

 

     “ _You_ could wipe this smug look off my face,” he smirks, reaching for her.

 

     “You’re insatiable, Jaime,” she says, letting him pull her closer for a moment.

 

     “Well, yes.”

 

     Brienne is the first to push the covers back and climb out of bed. Jaime takes a special moment to admire her body as she stops and stretches, smiling shyly when she catches his eyes on her. Even after months of living together and fucking in at least eight different positions, she still blushes when he looks at her like this. She’s been taking extra care of her form for how it will fare in the very tight suede dress Renly has designed her. He loves it except that it makes it impossible to touch her without leaving fingerprints. 

 

     The dress she had worn to the film awards when her short with the Sand sisters had been nominated had been a much more cooperative fabric, a glimmering, diaphanous silver that fell in delicate waves that she grumbled about. _Won’t I look silly in something so delicate?_ she had fretted. _You’d better take it off, then_ , he had answered. He has learned to pick his battles when it comes to Brienne’s self-deprecating comments; they seem half-compulsive. Jaime has seen so many people who were eminently confident that they were special, because everyone around them told them so; it’s disconcerting to see the opposite, someone who has been told to be grateful for anything and expect nothing.

 

     The thought of it always makes him want to find that septa of hers, and every other short-sighted fuck who has ever hurt her, and force an apology out of them. And maybe a few tears. And some blood, except maybe for the septa, but really only maybe...

 

     Still, Brienne is assertive enough to hold her own in a room full of Lannisters if she has to. Her birthday party had proven that. She had spent a whole twenty minutes talking to his Aunt Genna without any kind of emotional outburst, something not all family girlfriends could claim.

 

     In fact, Genna heartily approves of her and had encouraged her to keep giving Tywin a hard time whenever possible. Uncle Kevan had been reserved but accepting. Cousin Lancel...well, the less said about Lancel in general, the better, in Jaime’s opinion, but he hadn’t said anything unforgivable _to_ Brienne--no, thankfully, he had saved his unforgivable comments for Jaime. 

 

     Jaime had been surprised Lancel was even speaking to him, but maybe the younger man didn’t know Jaime knew about he and Cersei. In any event, his cousin is definitely no longer under any illusions about how close they are, or how much his opinion is wanted.

 

     Her looks haven’t changed, but Jaime is hard pressed to believe that anyone could get to know Brienne and not end up thinking, _She’s more beautiful than I thought._ And now that he knows her so well, he’d be willing to get on rooftops and declare her the most beautiful woman in King’s Landing, if she wouldn’t definitely roll her eyes and probably punch him for it.

 

     Anyway, that dress had been loose and soft enough that he had been able to get quite intimate just a few minutes before she left. She didn’t win, so she wasn’t on-screen for long, but he had had the immense pleasure of seeing her on television, reserved and serious and professional, and knowing what kind of underwear she had on. He asked her to marry him that night. She said no, but that was par for the course. It’s kind of a rhetorical question at this point.

 

     “Good morning to me,” he murmurs.

 

     “Poppies are a bit ominous,” she comments later, on the way down to the gym. “If I remember right, they mean death.”

 

     “You think everything is ominous. You listen to Margaery too much.”

 

     “It’s a good thing I’m not superstitious, or that might have put my whole day off.” Jaime, privately, _is_ a little superstitious, so he decides to watch out for any poppies.

     “Myrcella is going to ask me to sneak her in,” Brienne sighs. Although Myrcella has attended with her mother every year since she was twelve, she is forbidden to go to the King’s Landing Gala, and Tommen as well, even though this should really have been his first time. He’s rather concerned by the fact that his sister has been so low-profile for the past few months, especially now that she’s skipping what is usually her favorite event of the year.

 

     Six months ago, he would have found the idea of spending the afternoon with them utterly fantastical, but it has become a downright occasional occurrence. They’ve been spending time with their uncle Tyrion as well, a true testament to how absent Cersei really is. 

 

    Tywin knows where she is, of course, and so does bloody Varys the goddamn spider, who may be a fan of he and Brienne, but seems determined to slyly sabotage most of the other Lannisters. The difference is, his father could actually get her a message or give the kids a number to call. _It can’t be unreasonable for children to want to at least talk to their parents on the phone, can it?_ Tommen had said over lunch one day, stabbing a meatball.

 

    Still, Cersei must have her way of finding out what they’re up to, because she sends their father a strongly worded email from Dorne wondering how he can abandon the next generation of their great line to be raised by ‘imps and freaks’. 

 

     But she didn’t come back. In total, she was gone almost two months, doing the gods knew what actual tasks, and had only returned a few days ago.

 

    However, she had taken extraordinary measures to ensure that Tommen and Myrcella were safe from any influences she didn’t approve of--she simply locked them in. One evening at around eight-thirty PM, the two of them had left the apartment to see a movie, and had been astonished to find a silent bodyguard standing in front of the elevator. 

 

     Jaime had never seen Myrcella get especially angry before, but she had been just about screaming at her mother over the phone. When Cersei has realized _he_ was there, she had threatened to come home immediately and had sworn up and down that the bodyguard wouldn’t be letting anyone _in_ , either.

 

     (When Brienne had told Margaery about this, she had grimaced and replied, “That’s some _Flowers In the Attic_ shit.”)

 

    This had all mostly ended once the summer was over and it was easier to keep track of the kids, but it has definitely fractured their relationship.

 

    They work out, shower, and eat breakfast before Brienne settles in to work on something. She’s _always_ working on something. Seeinghow passionate she is about her work has made him think twice about his own occupation. Maybe _literally_ twice, as he had gone straight from high school, where he hadn’t exactly done his best work, to working for his father, where he’s been ever since. College had absolutely not been for him--all the reading, the words making his head swim and a distinct stabbing sensation to develop behind one or both eyes. He understands why now, but he still isn’t sure studying would have ever been his strong suit.

 

     Brienne, on the other hand, has worked all kinds of odd jobs, trying to make ends meet on her own in King’s Landing in the years before the land sale on Tarth made her a wealthy woman. In some ways, she really has more life experience than him, which is a sometimes uneasy thought. He doesn’t even know what he would do with himself if he wasn’t working for the benefit of the family. What Lannister defines themselves as anything other than a _Lannister, of House Lannister_?

 

     So while she works, he half-watches TV and half-wonders if Cersei would tolerate him taking on a more active role in Tommen’s budding charity. It would certainly feel more rewarding to his soul than working for the rich to get richer, even if the rich does include himself. It would be nice to earn his own money that his father couldn’t get his fingers into, but considering Tywin’s reach, that would be a considerable challenge.

 

     Then he half-watches TV and half-watches her until she gets annoyed and goes to her office/studio and closes the door, completely failing to appreciate his pitiful, longing gaze. 

 

     Tommen and Myrcella arrive promptly at three and, as predicted, the first thing Myrcella asks is whether or not Brienne is absolutely sure there’s no way she can go with her, but in the kind of resigned tone that doesn’t even require a response. Brienne pats her shoulder and just says sorry.

 

     Brienne goes into the kitchen to make tea and Myrcella tells him she finally met Sansa’s sister, Arya.

 

    “She curses a lot,” Myrcella says with a slight frown. “She’s _so_ not like Sansa at _all_.”

 

    “She’s not mean, so who cares?” Tommen shrugs.

 

    “So do you like her, Tommen?” Myrcella asks slyly.

 

    “Like... _like_ her? No. What?”

 

    “Really? Who do you like? You’re old enough to have your first girlfriend now, I think.”

 

    Tommen grimaces. “Girls...I think it’s better if I just leave them alone.”

 

    Myrcella laughs and ruffles his hair. “You’re so cute, Tommen.”

 

    Tommen huffs, batting her hands away. “I’m fourteen, I shouldn’t be _cute._ I should be, like, manly or whatever.”

 

    “ _Like, manly or whatever,”_ Myrcella mimics. “What, like Joffrey?” She points a finger. “If you start acting like Joffrey, we’re not friends anymore.”

 

    “What would acting like Joffrey even _look_ like?”

 

    “Comment on the breasts of every woman you see, first of all.”

 

    “Ew! Don’t says breasts! That’s weird!”

 

    “Why, because I’m your sister?” Tommen nods vigorously. “Oh, grow up, Tommen.”

 

    “I need therapy now.”

 

    “Um, I’m ninety percent sure you already did, T.”

 

    _So this is what a healthy sibling relationship looks like..._ It must have been all the time left to their own devices while Cersei and Robert were busy shaping Joffrey, their golden psycho. Yet hadn’t he and Cersei been left to their own devices as well? He can only conclude that there was just something _wrong_ with them.

 

    Myrcella is disappointed that she can’t stay for all the hair and make-up, but she sighs wistfully and says, “Maybe it would make me too sad, anyway.”

 

    “What are you guys doing tonight instead?”

 

    “Watching the red carpet special and then Tommen’s making me watch some movie about tigers.”

 

    “ _Big Cats!_ ” Tommen says indignantly.

 

    “Yeah, that.”

 

    Brienne hesitates and then asks, “Your mother won’t be home?”

 

    “I don’t know,” Myrcella shrugs. “She came back from Dorne a few days ago, but she’s been in and out. If she wanted to have family night or something, she didn’t let us know about it.”

 

    Neither he nor Brienne say much at that. They’re in a strange state of stasis: technically, Myrcella and Tommen are still not supposed to be seeing them--that much had been made pretty clear by the guards outside Cersei’s apartment. They couldn’t _really_ stop the kids from leaving--Tywin was already displeased by the whole situation, to say the least, and he would have had their heads if they laid a finger on his grandchildren. But Myrcella and Tommen have already learned that it’s easier to go along with their mother, especially when she seems to forget her new rules soon enough. Now, the guards just spy on them, and the kids take taxis everywhere in the likely futile hopes of losing them.

 

     Tommen and Myrcella are happy to complain about the situation, but he and Brienne are careful not to say much. Brienne, soft as she is, doesn’t think it’s her place to rile up more resentment by giving an opinion. Whether she thinks Cersei is a shit mother or not, she doesn’t want the kids to hate her, for all their sakes. 

 

     Jaime doesn’t know what to say one way or the other. For years, he had barely seen these kids, _his_ kids--how can he step in now and give his opinion? He hadn’t given an opinion on how often they were left alone with nannies or how Robert barely paid them any attention when it had meant it was easier to find a place to slip off to and fuck his sister.

 

     So he merely pats their shoulders in a way he hopes is comforting and looks at his tea.

 

     The kids leave at four and Margaery hasn’t arrived, so they take a quiet moment to sit on the couch together. They love spending time with the kids, but the constant tight-rope of sympathy and silence can make it stressful. Jaime can’t imagine how she must feel, knowing the truth about their parentage, wishing it could be different, hoping it will be okay somehow at the end. Well, he _can_ imagine it, actually, but he’s made this bed, and now she has chosen to lay in it with him.

 

     “I never know what to say when they talk about their mother,” she sighs against his chest.

    

     “They understand.”

 

     “They’re so young, they shouldn’t have to understand complicated adult things. Myrcella, especially...if she keeps going like this, she’ll be a bitter old woman by the time she gets to college.”

 

     “I don’t know. Myrcella has a kind heart, and if she understands why her mother is like this, she’ll be able to get along with her and not feel hurt when she’s…”

 

     “The way she is?” Brienne says it lightly, but Jaime can hear the strain behind it.

 

     “Yeah.”

 

     “You might have a point. Tommen thinks she hates him. Or at least doesn’t love him.”

 

     “I blame Robert for that. The way he absolutely _exulted_ over Joffrey as his first son, any kid would feel like chopped liver.”

 

     “Why not blame both?” Brienne shrugs. She kisses him lightly and stands up from the couch, stretching her arms over her head.

 

     “Nice biceps,” Jaime grins.

 

     Brienne flushes and says, “Thanks. My boyfriend helps me work out. He’s kind of a weirdo, but I’m thinking about letting him stick around.”

 

     “Lucky him.”

 

     “I should start getting ready before Margaery comes over.”

 

     “Are you gonna do that weird thing you do in the mirror?” 

 

    Brienne flushes a shade darker and crosses her arms over her chest before throwing them up instead. “Probably! How many times do we have to talk about it?”

 

    “I’m thinking as many times as it takes for you to stop looking in the mirror and saying how ugly you are.” He puts the back of hand to his forehead and adopts a melodramatic and strangely Southern tone, something close to Scarlett O Hara: “ _Never forget how you ugly you are, never ever!”_

 

    “First of all, I’m 100% sure that I don’t sound like that, and that I have never sounded like that in my whole life. Second, I’ve been doing it for a long time. Like, a _long_ time. It’s a hard habit to break, okay?” she says, her arms wrapping around herself. Jaime stands and tries to reach for her, but she leans back, wrinkling her nose. “Don’t do that.”

 

    “Do what?”

 

    “Pity me.”

 

    Jaime drops his arms with a sigh and says, “Well, you told me I’m not allowed to track your enemies down and beat them up, so I’m trying my hardest to not get angry. I just wish people had been nicer to you.”

 

     The first time he heard it, the mirror monologue, he thought he might be sick all over their beautiful, antique wood floors. She had said all manner of disturbing things, all through putting on face lotion and mascara and lip balm, with the air of a well-rehearsed speech. To think of how long she had probably been reciting it...After at least two uninterrupted minutes of horror, he had suddenly realized how reprehensible it was to spy on a moment like this, but nor could he pretend he hadn’t heard.

 

     Standing outside the cracked bathroom door, he had said her name and asked, “What the hells are you _doing_ are in there?” 

 

    He could imagine her moment of freezing, then the tense shrug. “Just something I do to get ready before events.” A forcibly casual tone.

 

    “Can I come in?”

 

    “No! Go make tea or something!”

 

     And that had only been the first time. For about a week, he had worried that she did it every time she went to the bathroom, until she had snapped that it wasn’t the case with enough exasperation that he knew it was true.   

 

     The second time, he had appealed to her greatest weakness: her loved ones. _If you ever caught Sansa or Myrcella doing this, you’d go ballistic._ Brienne had explained patiently, as if he were a child, that Sansa and Myrcella were _beautiful_ , so they would never need to do a thing like this.

 

     Now, Jaime continues, “And I guess...in a way, I feel guilty because I think if we had met maybe four or five years ago, I would have been a complete prick to you.”

 

    Brienne snorts and says, “Good thing we met when we did then, or I would have definitely ended up knocking your teeth out, and I’m not sure you could pull off dentures.”

 

    “Ouch! Is that the professional opinion of a model?” She scoffs, but allows him to pull her close with a sigh, putting her arms tight around his waist. “Anyway,” Jaime says, “I’ll tell you what, how about next time, I get equal time for a rebuttal.”

 

    “That would just be you seducing me, Jaime.”

 

    “Damn. You know me too well.” She smiles and kisses him. “You know, Margaery hasn’t so much as texted…”

 

    “I know. I’m almost worried.”

 

    “So, in the meantime…” he says, moving his hands to her hips. He doesn’t really expect her to agree, but he’s pleasantly surprised.

 

    She has to take a shower anyway, so they get in together while Brienne grumbles as water conservation efforts under her breath. 

 

    When he lifts her against the wall, she gasps, wrapping her legs around him exactly how he likes, and says, “I think you work out just so you can do this.”

 

    “Mostly, and to watch _you_ work out.”

 

    “Like I said, my boyfriend’s a weirdo,” she huffs before she kisses him. 

 

    Luckily, Margaery doesn’t arrive until they’re all cleaned up. She’s tense, more tense than Jaime has ever seen her, and she quickly disappears into the bedroom with his girlfriend.

 

     Jaime sighs and thinks, _This might be a long night_.   

 

    And the feeling gets worse now, seeing Osmund Kettleblack waltzing around the Red Keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not perfect, but hopefully you enjoyed it!
> 
> Please comment if you enjoyed! It really boosts my motivation.


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